The Last Thread Of Sanity
by RedWritingRebel
Summary: It was a mistake he can't even remember. A slip that spiraled into a dangerous freefall. Now Raphael's very sanity dangles by threads. And not even his family can help him when the fraying rope finally snaps and he finds himself battling his own evils. A land of memories, a realm of nightmares, hell itself... wherever it is, he's alone there. Alone and dying... or so he thinks.
1. Chapter 1: Numb

**Disclaimer: My piggy bank has fifteen cents in it now... oh! and I have more lint. But no, no turtles.**

**A/N: A million apologies for my utter lack of updates, my muse has been a jumpy little bugger lately, plus I'm not very good at juggling multiple stories. Ironically, here's a new one to add to the mix! XD**

**There's a element in '_Nothing is Unbreakable_' that I wanted to expand on, but couldn't without screwing up the whole plot. Since obsessions don't hang lightly on me, the idea wouldn't die. Thus, '_The Last Thread of Sanity_' was born! It should be about 13—short—chapters long; and a ton of fun to write! At least my muse is having a blast. ^_^**

**Word count: 1211  
**

* * *

**Chapter one: Numb**

Too many people complained about the rain; about the wet puddles that splashed their shoes and the fat drops that soaked their hair and clothes. Raphael couldn't understand why—he loved it. He could sit for hours and watch the water wash the filth from the streets. Listen to it ding off metal railings and pelt the ground, to it rush down the drainage pipes and off rooftops.

To him, the rain was a reprieve, something that could drown out thoughts. It offered him a chance to forget... and he wished he could forget a lot. Remember, too.

Raphael pulled a knee up to his chest, watching as the other dangled over the ledge of the building. Several stories below was concrete, and somewhere beneath all that: his home, his family. But he couldn't think about them, not tonight.

Tonight he was numb. Tonight he was so tired that sleep even sounded good... if only he could. If only he could close his eyes without seeing _it_. The fragments of some nightmare that was there, slowly driving him mad... but not whole. No, just shards. Just enough to make his insides scream.

Remembering might be better—No, Raphael _knew _remembering would be better. Knowing is half the battle, Splinter always told him. Know your opponents to overcome them.

But _this,_ whatever it was... was as if Raphael was grappling with a ghost.

Amber eyes slid over the cloud choked skyline, half-lidded and unobservant. Rills of rainwater washed down his cheeks, off his fingertips and over his numb skin. His breath shuddered out in a puff of milky white, only to be sliced away by the downpour.

But it was okay, he told himself. This kind of numb was different, was good. Not at all like that first time...

"There you are." a voice rose above the shower. But Raphael didn't turn to greet his brother, didn't remove his eyes from the dark sky.

Feet splashed in growing puddles and a scarred hand landed lightly on an emerald shoulder. "Hey, why don't we get out of this rain, bro?"

When he got no response, the turtle shifted, ever so slowly, to sit in front of Raphael. The blank stare solidified with the disturbance, meeting the coal eyes of Leonardo. He looked angry, or like he very much wanted to be.

Still, his voice stayed soft. "You shouldn't be out here."

The younger lifted a palm, as if to say, _I like the rain,_ but the words never followed.

Leo took it otherwise, with an unsuppressed frown he looked to the sky and caught some drops of his own. "It's been pouring for hours."

"Didn't mean it as a question, Fearless." the words were lost in a roll of thunder. They weren't worth repeating.

So his gaze returned to the streets below, slowly, as if this reality would break with too fast a blink. Too reckless a thought. Right now Raphael had no reason to doubt it wouldn't—it took less than that last time.

"Mikey made soup," Leo tried, mimicking the younger's precarious perch.

_How easy it would be..._ In this onslaught of glistening shards scattering around them like a shattered glass ceiling—To slip. Just one wrong move...

His throat tightened. "So?"

"You hate soup."

"Yeah," he scoffed, shifting away. "Ain't ya nosy..."

"_Observant_, Raph," Leo clarified, lightly. "I'm observant."

The blue-clad turtle drew a new meaning to 'walking on eggshells'. He was too afraid to pull the leader card after what happened; or to repeat the orders that still rung in Raph's head. In fact, there wasn't an argument in the hothead's arsenal to pull in defense of his actions tonight. At this point, he wouldn't even bother.

Leo smiled, his teeth bright in the dimness and his stoic eyes as expressive as they once were years ago. Worry shimmered at the surface. "And I think we've both spent more than enough sick days sipping broth to know why—"

"I shouldn't be out here! Dammit, Fearless, why don't ya just tell me ta get my ass home already?" Raph growled, throwing his other leg over the ledge with a fleeting fierceness.

Leo's hand was on him in a flash. "Easy!"

"I think I can handle not fallin' off a roof." emerald fingers fisted, restless now. "You're the one who should be careful."

His brother retracted with raised brows. "How's that?"

Raphael forced a chuckle. "Ya gotta admit, bro, you've fallen off more buildin's than me."

"Off _buildings_," Leo repeated. Nothing else needed to be said.

They both knew the mere act of standing was a whole different story. Irrationality ran rampant through Raphael's head; such a simple thing twisted into a key and rattled before a monster that couldn't get free again. _Never_ again. The sentiment was too serious to laugh at... and too embarrassing to admit. So it sat there, unspoken in the wet air.

Not even the rain would wash it away.

Leonardo kept a measured distance between him and his brother. Independence thrived in those few feet, perhaps the most precious thing to Raphael right now; and still, if that failed, Leo was there to catch him.

The brothers shared a silent look. And the younger deflated like a squashed toad.

"Look, if anything 's gonna kill me, it's all this freakin' attention. I ain't dying. What happened was a one time deal. I'm fine now."

"Twice," the elder said, not hiding the irritation this time.

"Still doesn't mean I'm dyin' here." lightning sparked a fire in amber eyes. It flickered out just as quick.

"No one said it did."

"Right," he snorted, "Ya always jus' act bat shit crazy then."

"You know what, Raph, you're right." he inclined his head in a mock surrender, still not as explosive as he should be. "We're all overreacting. I'm sorry. Now let's go home."

"If I stay cooped up down there any longer, _I'll_ go crazy."

Even as he said it, he slid cautiously from his seat, a hand lingering on the ledge for as long as it could, and strode to a fire escape. But something stopped him cold before the first step of descent. For a trembling second, Raphael thought it was happening again. Here, on a slick ladder strung up seven stories high.

And maybe Leo did too, because his fingers were a steel vise around his brother's arm. Thankfully, that's all it was - another's touch.

"We can't help you if you don't let us."

_I don't think anyone can help me..._

His tongue shriveled up, though the words wanted out. "Ya ever think I..." _just don't want your help? _He shook his head and met his brother's stare. "I don't need ya repeatin' things a million times ta get it?"

Leonardo didn't waver. "Just promise me you will."

"Tell ya what, Fearless, if ya lay off the mother hen bit, I'll deal." the railing rattled beneath them as Raph leaned back and offered a binding hand. It shook before Leo grasped it in his own; luck had it that their gaze never broke.

"All right." Leo nodded the next moment. "Now get your shell back to the lair."

A smile, wry and taut as a wire, stretched across Raphael's face. "Close enough."

* * *

**A/N: I'd love to hear what y'all think. ^_^**

**Also, _Watch Me Burn,_ co-written by ThisCatalyst'sPen, The ThirdAetas and myself is now up! Check it out and let us know what you think.**

**Thanks for reading! and...**

**Cheers! your Red Writing Rebel.**


	2. Chapter 2: Oblivion

**Disclaimer: I hate the color pink; I love the turtles. My room is pink; the turtles be not mine. Ironic, ain't it?  
**

**A/N: So... my research for this chapter only went as far as my stomach could handle. And, well, let's just say I could never be a nurse/doctor/biologist. *sheepish grimace* Also, there is some imagery that may be a little disturbing in this chapter. I tried keeping details more on the side of emotions than actions, though. Which actually worked pretty well with the whole third person POV thing. I think...  
**

_**Anyways,**_**I hope you enjoy this chapter of TLTOS. ^_^**

**Word count: 2223**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Oblivion**

_Eleven_ _days_ _ago,_ Leo was there, behind him, saying something Raphael didn't care to hear. They were making their nightly rounds: Raph came in late; Leo had a lecture. One the younger allowed the elder to spill without a word of objection or an ounce of given attention.

The silence was strange for him, but so was the cold that settled in his stomach as he paced the lair that night. It was heavier than just unease, or guilt, or a hundred other things. And with every tick of the clock it spread further. He felt like a caged animal. His shoulders were tense, his steps measured; and every few lengths he paused to sit, fidget, and stand again.

Even Leonardo's watchful gaze didn't phase him.

Something wasn't right.

And whatever it was, it stole his knees from under him mid-stride. It wiped every sight away like marker from a white board and flipped every sound to mute. His fingers ached for something solid to latch onto, instead his fists became jelly at his sides; the world a spinning top.

Fear manifested itself into a single word, in a single instance: "_Leo_,"

That's when he went down. As helpless as a rock, he crumbled towards concrete. Hands caught him before the floor could, frantic but strong. Instinct told him to pull away; his limbs didn't listen. No sooner had his shell met unforgiving stone, did his back arch and his lungs cap against the air trying to fill them. Pain plunged him beneath a winter white tide, sharp and cold and sealed with ice too thick to break.

In a rush of ever rare fear, Raphael didn't hear his name... Just felt more hands. Just felt and didn't understand.

Somebody was above him—no, _on_ him, grabbing his shoulder with one hand, his head with the other. His muscles were torn between fight or flight; flinching away only to keel towards the opponent the next moment.

Air hit him in a string of single syllable puffs. Imagined meanings drifted over his mind like storm clouds, twisting what surely were just simple words into grotesque things.

There was something sharp in his neck—something so cold it _burned_.

From his throat came a sound: a moan that wanted so badly to be a scream.

Someone steadied him, tilted his chin up, wrapped something soft over his unseeing eyes. The feeling of flying was the last he had before his mind dipped into an icy chamber of existence.

...

In that chamber there were stars. An array of blurring gases that glowed a dozen different colors. Large, flashing and fading, too bright for New York's smoggy sky.

Everything narrowed, the scape crumbling as walls rose up. The sensation of asphalt prickled skin he wasn't sure was his. And the air was thick with the smell of sweat and trash.

_Thump._

Someone screamed...

It sounded like Raphael.

...

Hours later, amber eyes fluttered open to a jagged crack on a flaking ceiling. A dim light burned spots across his vision and unconsciousness beckoned him back. But reality focused with his next blink.

A thumb stroked Raphael's crumpling brow, soft and slow.

"Sensei?" it was a slur lost in the near silence of his father's meditative breaths. The old rat remained still, strangely unaware of the waking turtle.

The thickness of Raph's tongue was suffocating, as if his mouth was glutted with glue soaked cotton. His eyelids ached against a pressure that was no longer present. The discomfort bugged him more than a battle wound—and that didn't make sense. Mystified, Raph spoke again, "Sensei?" it was barely more than a tattered inhale, but it was enough for Splinter's dark gaze to find him.

"Raphael," he leaned closer, as if the weight of that single word were a rock leadened noose around his throat and he had just tossed it out to sea.

"Why 'm I in th' infirmary?" it was a struggle to get out, so much so that Raphael was struck with the frustration of a child, of himself years ago as he failed to learn a simple kata.

His teeth locked against the need to scream. "Why 'm I—" No. "Why 'm—" No. "_Dammit_."

Two furry brows fell, beneath them pooled a sadness and worry not foreign to the old rat. "Please, my son, don't strain yourself. I can hear you well. As for what happened..." there was an endless pause, in which uncertainty flickered between the two. "I believe Donatello is best equipped to answer that."

He stood then, stooping down to place an affectionate kiss on his son's maskless head. The rareness of the gesture struck Raph dumb.

"Don't move," his father said. "I will return shortly."

He didn't have a chance to, really. Less than fifteen seconds after his tail vanished around the corner, Splinter reappeared with Donnie in toll. The purple-clad brother didn't waste a moment with pleasantries. He jerked a nearby drawer open, scooped up its content, then swung around to Raphael with a plethora of questions raining from his tongue.

"How do you feel? Lightheaded? Nauseous? Weak? Fevered? Difficulty breathing? Any ting—"

"Don, slow it down, 'll ya?" he squeezed his eyes shut, wondering wearily if he had screamed himself hoarse somehow.

Ink made its mark on paper, and for a moment that was the only sound. A chair whined as Don sat. "Okay," he said, softer. "How do you feel?"

"Numb," was the first thing he drew. Because now he realized his brother's hand was on his shoulder, and the touch felt like a ghost's. From the neck down he wasn't whole. It was as if his nerves had unraveled and were slowly tying themselves back together now.

When Raphael said no more, Don prompted with another rattling list. He just shook his head against it all. That's when Leo entered, his mask tied a bit too tight so shadows cast themselves over his eyes. He paced at the end of the infirmary bed, sharing glances with Don, Splinter, and a Mikey who had yet to venture past the threshold.

Absurdity hit. Outrage followed.

Hamato Raphael was _not_ fussed over. He was no invalid. And he wanted some damn answers.

Undirected rage stitched the young turtle back together, one pinprick at a time. His nerves tingled, as if just waking from a long sleep, and it hurt to move. But he did. He swatted an olive hand away, growling when its twin joined it in restraining him to the bed.

"Don't sit up." the residential doctor ordered.

Raphael never was good at listening. He elbowed a pillow beneath his shell and edged back until he sat against the bed frame. Tactfully, he ignored the nausea that nailed him in the gut. And gave no heed to the disapproving glares of his family.

"Jus' tell me why the hell 'm in here." he gruffed, voice growing stronger with every word.

Leo stepped forwards, his jaw stiff with an answer. But Don's raised hand silenced him.

"What do you remember?"

Dark ridges pinched. "Leavin' fer patrol," he offered. "Don't know how I ended up back at the lair, though." fierce golden eyes narrowed with the final word before turning on the genius. With a pointed scrunch of his beak, he posed his question again. "Or why I'm in here."

"Raph," Don sighed, as if the weight of his next words were trying to strangle him. "You had a seizure."

Cold shock struck the hothead in the jaw, knocking any response back down his throat. Disbelief forced itself into a dark chuckle. But no one else joined in the chorus.

From the threshold, Mike met Raph's questioning gaze with mournful silence.

No joke, then.

"Ya can't be serious." the emerald turtle fumbled with the flimsy blankets still wrapped around his legs. It was suddenly too hot in the small room. There were too many eyes on him. "Donnie?"

Said brother abandoned his seat and cupped a light hand over the opposite elbow, as if ashamed at the answers he'd given. Raphael recognized the gesture in a heart beat. It was his appeasement pose.

"Fortunately, it wasn't too serious," Don said, fiddling with his notes. "You don't appear to have any injuries or complications, but I want to keep you under observation, just for a little while. We don't know what triggered this and the best thing to do n—"

Raphael didn't stick around to hear the rest. A flick of his heel pitched him off the mattress. The rebellious act was rewarded with a blindside from his own body. His knees gave way.

A brother caught him. The hands strong but gentle, as if Raphael was no more than a fine glass statue. Worry dug lines across Leo's forehead. And disgust rose in Raphael's throat. It left his mouth in a growl. "Get off of me."

The eldest was shoved away, half way through saying something about lying down, and unceremoniously collided with Donatello. Fingers fisted against the urge to find something stable to grasp. Raphael stayed straight.

In the doorway, Michaelangelo spread his arms like a bouncer. "Whoa, hold it, Raphie! I think you should really listen to Donnie on this one."

"Get outta my way, Mike."

The malice laced through those words backed the youngest into the hall, all fronts of bravery vanishing. Still, Mikey trailed behind Raph's retreating shell.

"You didn't see—" the bathroom door slammed in his face, "—what happened..." Rubbing his offended snout, he slumped down until his tail hit the floor and swung an arm over his knees. "That went well," he mumbled to no one in particular.

"How's that?" Leo towered over him, frowning.

Pipes rattled as the shower sputtered on. An orange mask readjusted to cover blue eyes, decidedly. "He's still in the lair." he said, and with that leaned his head back to make camp.

...

Things didn't return to normal. Not completely, anyways. Mikey clung. Leo mother-henned. Donnie only looked at him like a toaster that needed to be fixed. Irritating. But that was his brothers.

And those behind closed doors conversations about him? Well, they didn't go unnoticed. _Or_ uninterrupted by the topic of choice himself. If Donatello and Leonardo wanted to talk about him, they could do it to his face.

Their muffled voices filtered from the lab now, too low for words to find meanings. The hothead craned his neck back, fighting fatigue on the deceptively comfortable couch. He just didn't have the energy to drag his shell two dozen feet to yell at the worry crazed conspirators.

So he sat, casting sideway glances at his younger brother. Mikey was absorbed in watching a pimp my ride special, and for awhile Raph was too. There was just something about shellacking bubble gum pink paint on an otherwise wicked hotrod that drew his face slack with boredom. With a snort of disgust he finally stood up. But his intent to raid the kitchen vanished in the same instance. His stomach churned ice and his nerves unknit one strand at a time.

Still, determination set him walking: the bathroom his new target.

Half way up the stairs, numbness overtook him. He fell, not so oblivious to reality as he'd been the time before. Each bump of the steps stamped his skin with bruises. The lights danced between blinks. His body bucked and turned and finally met the frantic hands of a brother.

Of the youngest.

Raphael's heart tripped in its race. And no matter how much he wanted to look away, he couldn't. Blue eyes locked onto his own like magnets. The wicked and the innocent. They corrupted each other, one more than the other.

_Damn that turtle luck._

Fear overflowed in fat tears; Raphael felt them pelt his skin as Mikey struggled to get a couch pillow beneath his head.

Unconsciousness got to him before Don or Leo, and those cerulean eyes followed him back to the icebox. The stars weren't stars, but a thousand pairs of that too wide gaze.

And that's why, when he shuddered awake some time later, he didn't fight the gentle hands that pressed him down. He didn't argue with the voices that told him to lay still, to take it easy, to 'drink this'. That lied and said everything would be okay.

Anger had abandoned everyone—absent from the home for the first time since they were tots. Instead, the atmosphere was sodden with questions that had no answers.

_What happened that night, on patrol?_

Raph didn't remember.

_Well, where do you _usually_ go when you're out alone?_

Where ever he was needed. It might have sounded heroic if he had said it aloud. Trapped in his mind it echoed madness. The fact that he spent his nights protecting those who despised him was pathetic. They'd see him dead, no matter the numbers of lives he saved.

_Why don't you stop?_

He hadn't been keeping track of which brother lobbed which question, but that one lifted his lids in search. No one stood out. Or spoke again. Or even noticed the confusion in his eyes.

Nothing seemed right.

Shame colored his cheeks when Mikey's voice rose above the others. Comparing notes with Leo, recounting the episode, claiming there were no 'triggers'.

"Was fine 'til I stood up." he suddenly blurted. It was the truest thing he'd said in awhile - at least the conviction was there... Not at all like the 'I'm fine's he'd been throwing around. Or the 'just a stupid dream's he'd hiss upon waking.

Lies Raphael had even begun to believe.

Because, well, the truth sometimes was a scary thing.

* * *

**A/N: hopefully this cast some light on the last chapter, cause it was rather cryptic. ^_^'  
**

**Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading! **

**Cheers! your red writing rebel.**


End file.
